


Pine no More: How to Make Your Soulmate Fall Eternally in Love with You in Ten (Debatably) Easy Steps

by pureseasalt



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: "u will never take her away from me!" i say, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, MY wish fulfillment fanfic, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change, Tags May Change, Warnings May Change, gripping the unrequited soulmates trope with my decaying fingers, i did zero (0) research on this the HR is requesting u to pls suspend ur disbelief, my quarantine breakdown, no beta bc im a fucking Man, would u like a side of self-projection w/ that burger
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:08:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26857231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pureseasalt/pseuds/pureseasalt
Summary: or, at the very least, make them acknowledge your existence.
Relationships: Ushijima Wakatoshi & Reader, Ushijima Wakatoshi/Original Female Character(s), Ushijima Wakatoshi/Reader
Comments: 11
Kudos: 23





	1. Prefatory Remarks to the Reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (or, the makings of a Very Bad, Most Unfortunate Decision)

When your name was repeatedly announced through the intercoms, you had half-expected that you'd done something wrong. 

Curious eyes followed you outside of the classroom as a monotonous voice crackled over the speakers. An understandable reaction, you mused. Not only had it interrupted a much needed recess after a lecture that had everyone glued to the board, it was also nearing what the student body fondly dubbed as Shiratorizawa's Hell Week. Seven days of fire and damnation in the prestigious academy that subject students to mountains of projects and migraine inducing exams, with curses to both teachers and incompetent group mates thrown around like crumpled scratch papers. 

It was also a crucial period for student athletes. If the academics was already a thing of Lovecraftian proportions, then the gruelling training they had to wrestle along with it is nothing to sneeze at either. This _was_ Shiratorizawa Academy, after all. 

That's why you had to be an overachiever so impressively overachieving that you even bring back gold to the academy in your spare time to be called here. 

" _Physical Education faculty and Sports Office_ ," says the sign. 

You— despite your grades being good enough to hold down a scholarship, were obviously not that kind of student. Unless, you grimaced, you've made a mistake so egregious it warranted a special mention to this very faculty. 

It didn't surprise you that it was large, with wide spaces separating the cubicles and a staircase leading to the second floor. What surprised you, however, was Miss Miyama— your Phys Ed teacher who would supposedly bring to attention a hopefully minor flaw that you'd done, popping her head from a corner of the room to greet you with an encouraging smile on her face. 

"You're here. Finally. Good. Sit down," she rambled on after leading you to her cubicle, gesturing to a chair near hers. There were papers everywhere, both neatly piled and haphazardly placed as if she didn't bother with them until the very last minute. 

"How would you like being a manager for the boys' volleyball team?"

Something must have happened to your hearing on your way here. That can’t be right. The boys' volleyball team didn't need a manager. And she certainly wasn't asking _you_ to be one.

"It's only for a few months. You can go after the Nationals. What with most of the senior reserved members gone. Said they're gonna focus now that they're graduating. Well, college entrance exams are around the corner so..yeah... _but_ you wouldn't believe the opportunity these kids are wasting."

Now, that definitely wasn't your fault. In fact, none of this had anything to do with you. 

"—it's a long competition! Who even says they wouldn't be stepping in the court?! Who gets to decide?! Who—"

Her space was glaringly pink. 

You didn't know Miyama-sensei had a collection of Sanrio paper clips. Her cubicle could almost be mistaken for a Sanrio store. On the top of her desk were Hello Kitty markers, My Melody ballpoint pens, images of the famous cat smattered across sticky notes—

"What do you think?" she beamed expectantly. You shifted in your seat.

"But—" you said, still choosing the right words in your head.

This really hadn't gone the way you thought it would. 

"If I'm correct, aren't there coaches and the other members left for—"

Miss Miyama grunted and swept dainty, manicured fingers to the roots of her hair. 

"That's the thing! There's only coach Saito and that old bat!"

_Old bat_?

"The other coaches are out on official business. They really have rotten timing. Besides, it's just paper work! You wouldn't go around acting like a water girl," she laughed. "There are still the junior reserves for that, you know. And just think how this'd look on your resumé! Having the Shiratorizawa boys' volleyball team printed there would be like throwing a bone to a pack of employers, I guarantee you. Er, that is if you're planning to stay in Nagano. And work in Nagano. Or get yourself a part-time job..in Nagano.. But given how….You already have one don't you? It’s good extracurricular? You know what they say: if you can’t join the team then..uh..be their manager?"

Refusal was already sitting in the air, the silence and your inability to look at her speaking clearly enough for you. Although, Miyama-sensei's defeated huff, you realized, is a lot harder to bear than your initial fear of getting scolded for all the other teachers to witness.

"They're a pain, if I'm being honest," she grinned, massaging the back of her neck as she continued, "just cause they're handling champions doesn't mean they can order us around to look for someone to do their work for them."

At that, you couldn't help but search for any sign that someone had heard you. Her complaints didn't seem like something a student should hear, but then again she really wasn't _wrong_ either.

"Went ahead and asked someone competent but not too enthusiastic, mind you, to the point of distracting the star players," she snorted, and you wondered if it was your imagination that she added _'star players, my ass_ ' at the end of it. "Some teachers and I asked around for students in your year. Of course, they all refused. Not your fault; you got exams and all that to worry about."

You gave her a half-hearted nod. It was true. You did have so much work waiting to be done, reviewers to make, subjects to study. So much to worry about. 

A sweaty palm touched your left hip. It took you a second to realize it was yours. Without knowing it, your hand had already been worrying over that part of your skirt. After all, joining the boys' volleyball team— even for a short period of time, meant to you more than the possibility of drowning in a tide of responsibilities. 

"You know, there's this thing in volleyball," Miyama-sensei began when it seemed to her you'd remain unresponsive until the next bell, an almost knowing glance to the wrinkle left on top of your hip. "A player can only have contact with the ball for a blink of an eye. Just like that, then it's gone. You gotta keep the ball in the air, otherwise you'd lose. It's all in that moment. All or nothing, as they say. So when it's your turn, make sure you do everything you can not to drop it."

Which was why, you thought, you'd never developed a liking to the sport. Your arms were never strong enough to take hits and keep the ball going, neither were you fast enough to keep up with it. 

Your teacher guffawed. "Listen to me spout all this corny talk. I almost sound like a friend of mine. Who's also very annoying, just so you know."

You doubt that you'd have any fun playing this game, but then again you'd never know if you did not try. It's not like you had any choice either. You may have managed to delay it for so long but it seems like whoever’s in charge up there has finally lost patience and has now decided to take matters into their own, scheming hands. This was bound to happen sooner or later. 

Might as well. 

You felt a stirring in your stomach: your body's way of telling you that it wants to cast out what you've had for lunch, or that you're heading for disaster and it insists that you stop whatever it is you're doing. Right _now_.

But, despite all that, you asked her anyway. 

"When do I begin?" 

* * *

* * *

_Congratulations are in order!_

_It is safe to assume that with the purchase of this nifty little guide, you have already succeeded in acquiring a name on your hip (a given; the average person has already received a soulmark at pre-pubescence) and meeting the owner of said name; however, a purchase of this guide also means that...things...probably did not work out for you._

_Maybe they already have someone they wish to be with. Maybe they already do have someone in their lives (if that's the case, it is with a heavy heart that the writer informs you that buying this guide was a financially incorrect decision). Or, maybe... they’re just not that into you._

_Worry not! Your congratulations will not be retracted! With this guide at hand, your dreams of a happily ever after will soon become a reality!_

_Pine no more, dear reader. Pine no more!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my gdrive: hey, yeah uh, it says here that u have pending stories so can u pls finish those before starting anoth-
> 
> me, trisha paytas voice: huh? :D what? :D oh :)


	2. STEP ONE: Make an Impression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (sparks have already failed to fly at the first glance, it's time to pull out the big guns)

There were a lot of things you had to adjust to after having moved to another prefecture and, ultimately, to another school. Your parents had wanted nothing but the best for you and you had wanted nothing but to be less of a burden to the people you loved. At that time, a scholarship at Shiratorizawa Academy had been the most logical choice. 

Fortunately, the neighbors turned out to be the least of your problems. Everyone was nice, especially to recently moved families trying to make a home out of an unfamiliar pile of brick and mortar. The bustling streets of Sendai did not pose a bigger issue than you thought it would. Frequent exploration of the place helped you know your way through its many nooks and crannies. 

Naturally, the ease with which you found footing in the city itself did not extend to Shiratorizawa Academy. Because although you had made a few, new friends immediately after introducing yourself to the class, the pang that comes swiftly at the memory of the ones you’ve left behind never really dulled down, just became more bearable. 

There was also the trouble with the prodigies that crowded Shiratorizawa. If the students worthy of a full ride were not incredibly scholastic then they could be — and some of them  _ already _ were, qualifiers for an Olympic medal. Or, much to your astonishment, they were both. Kids who were  _ just _ smart were a dime a dozen here. It wasn't like in your small town where you were lauded for being just that. The scholarship you'd been so proud of became harder and harder to maintain as time passed. 

And as most things went, there were still the unexpected and unexplained that you had to grapple with. Specifically, the name engraved on your left hip — just half an inch above the bone, was added to the ever growing list of things to get used to. It was not the thing itself, of course. You had celebrated and adored that name long before everyone else had. 

It was how inescapable the name was. Outside or within the campus, it made no difference. 

Ushijima Wakatoshi was everywhere. 

All these years and you never knew you had a demigod for a soulmate. But that wasn't what had you at first, really.

At first, it was just hearing the name. 

As if the universe had spoken it into existence and there appeared your other half: a real, flesh and blood creature that was more than just a mark on your skin. 

"Ushijima Wakatoshi! My, what a promising future Shiratorizawa holds with this boy at the helm! That's a true ace in the making if I ever see one!" boomed the commentator as the crowd cheered for a point bagged by the team; the first out of many more to come. 

It had been the InterHigh during your first year and you had just arrived at your friend’s living room, regretting sprinting the few blocks separating your house from theirs as you kneaded the back of your legs. An apology was already preparing itself on your lips when a pair of piercing olive greens greeted you through the television screen. 

"What do you mean an 'ace in the making'?! That boy's already one! We haven't even reached half of the competition yet but it seems like we're already seeing a champion!" said the other. You didn't care much for sports, especially volleyball. Being as conscious with your grades as you were, however, you had to at least know how to do it if you wanted to pass a subject. 

In that moment, nothing mattered more than the boy bearing the name. You never knew people could feel the way you had felt back then. Like in one of those dreams, where from out of nowhere you find yourself being pushed from the edge of a skyscraper and you're left falling as fast as your heart is rising to your throat.

Except, you never woke up. 

"Ushiwaka! Now I remember! That's what they've been calling him. So that's who's got the third years in a frenzy!" It was your friend who first spoke after a brief minute of screeching and howling.

"Ushiwaka?" 

The girls surrounding the television, chips and juice bottles in hand, turned to bombard you with a series of chastisement for your tardiness. 

"Well, look who finally decided to show up. We just earned a point! That Ushijima really is something else, isn't he?" Yui, who patted the seat beside her for you, sighed adoringly, and then you couldn't quell the labored laughter that tore from you. 

"What?! Laugh all you want!" she pouted. "If you stopped studying for once then you would have been early enough to see that spike."

"She's right," Hotaru perked up. "He's in the same year as us but they talk about him like he's always been The School Celebrity or something. And that's just in the baseball team."

"His breed of talent doesn't come everyday. Ah, watch; see. Pay attention to how he moves. You'll get what we mean."

You didn't have to. You already did. You paid attention and never dared to take your eyes off of him. The few jokes cracked by your friends went from one ear to another, and when they stood up in glee after the team dominated the first set, you didn't bother joining them.

And with each serve, each slam of the ball down to the other side of the court, the pressure on your chest felt heavier, the constriction squeezing tighter until you felt tears prick your eyes. Breathing grew intensely difficult that you had to quietly excuse yourself from the room.

You mourned for your soulmate on that day. 

* * *

Turns out that that had been a complete waste of energy, because after that weekend you went to school with a skip to your steps. You hummed a little louder, smiled a little wider, that everyone couldn't help but tease you for it. 

When that odd haze of gloom passed by, things became a lot better. This speedy recovery should come as no surprise. For someone who'd been raised on a healthy diet of shoujo mangas, what greater gift could be possibly given to you than the perfect, popular guy to your meek school girl trying her best to survive? 

Wasn't this exactly how those stories went? 

Somehow, in-between hours of reading and re-rewriting notes taken during class, you had began crafting a world where your Wakatoshi reigned sovereign prince in the castles you'd built in its vast blue sky; a world of endless possibilities for serendipitous first meetings (there was one you'd always preferred; the scenario: you were both running late for school, a collision, then a recognition under a rain of cherry blossoms). 

Perhaps it was because fantasizing was just so easy to do — with that face and larger than life reputation, that you had gotten comfortable with the giddiness that came with day dreaming and anticipating and the nights spent squealing into your pillow because you couldn't contain the spark of excitement at the thought of being with him and, before you knew it, weeks had turned to months.

The months diminished and turned to a year. And it was only then that you found out that not only have you yet to speak a word to your soulmate, you haven't even actually met him. 

At least, not until the day the academic ranking for first year students came out. 

* * *

Plastered on one of Shiratorizawa's newsboards was a long list of names, starting from the most outstanding to the least. Contrary to what you'd expected, a sense of serenity came over you instead of the debilitating nervousness you'd come to be acquainted with — a self-assuredness rooted from consistent effort, as you approached the list with your friends and saw your spot among the entire population of juniors. You knew exactly where you stood in this place, and as long as it kept you from becoming a financial liability to your family then who were you to whine over it? 

Nevertheless, like many others, that did not stop the curiosity that pushed you to (grudgingly) survey the names who had made it to the very top. 

His was included in it (because why wouldn't it be?).

  1. _Ushijima Wakatoshi_



"Seriously, that guy is a beast," one of the boys at the back had snickered.

"Seijoh is already on a league of its own and he just swatted them all like flies."

"Did you know that we actually tried to recruit him before."

"Yeah and you're not special. Everyone else did."

"I think senpai teared up a little when he refused."

"Eh, can't be helped that he's a volleyball freak."

And on and on it went. Yui and the other girls had already been pestering you to quit glaring holes into the list, which you were about to do, when a strange sort of silence slowly settled over the crowd behind you. 

Hotaru gripped your sleeve. "Oh my god. Act natural." 

Her vehement whisper would've earned a cheeky retort from you, but as soon as you followed her line of sight, you, too, joined the school of gaping fishes at the mere presence of the boy himself. 

There he was. Standing amidst ostensibly disinterested spectators.

"I  _ mean  _ it, Yui. Don't stare- don't-  _ goddammit- _ " 

Given a different circumstance, you would have been amused at the irony of it all. That for a person whose name is uttered so frequently as if it’s theirs to say, people sure are quick to deny that he's real now that he's right there. Not that he minded, or probably cared to notice. 

A flash of memory came to you, unbidden but not unwelcome. A recollection of one summer's day, humidity accompanied by the symphony of cicadas. A tome about art and history in your hands as you sat on a warm bench, the tips of your fingers teasing over an image of Michelangelo's David. 

"You should see the real thing," an old man — whom you subsequently learned had travelled the entirety of Europe in his youth, had sighed behind you, making you turn your head in bewilderment. 

You’d never quite forgotten that wistful smile. 

“Makes you see things in perspective. You think you’re all that then suddenly- you’re standing beneath this seventeen feet tall marble. And nothing’s more magnificent. Really makes you see how small you are, _ ”  _ he said with a stare so distant you weren’t sure who he was talking to anymore. 

Ushiwaka was tall. Ushiwaka was handsome. Those were things that you already knew courtesy of tv broadcasts, Shiratorizawa's sports publications, and exuberant conversations among fellow admirers.

_ You should see the real thing _ . 

But, it was only then that you understood just how much one person can command an entire hallway of people without so much as a say so; that his height was not just something to be awed over because, more than anything, it was an attestation to the unfairness of the world that only a select few would go about their lives looking like  _ that _ ; that an impassive and aloof set to his austere features only exhibited how much he'd been crafted by a god's whim for perfection. “Here is Ushijima Wakatoshi. Flawless in every way. Just because,” his maker probably said. 

_ Really makes you see how small you are _ .

Yui's barely concealed squeal was what pulled you back to the realm of the living, and to the fact that your name was many rows below his. A considerable distance in terms of lists and rankings, but a great deal shorter in the grand scheme of things. 

He needs only to look down, just so, and then he'd see your name and when he does —  and when he  _ does _ — 

"This is happening _ ,"  _ you muttered to yourself, incredulous and admittedly impatient. Your nails biting down your palm for fear that they might find their way between your teeth. 

_ Please, look down. _

_ Wait. _

_ Don't.  _

_ Look down. _

_ Please.  _

Yet his eyes, a pair of iron walls that did nothing but conceal, remained trained to the upper part of the list. 

He left after that.

What lasted only for a minute had spanned a lifetime's worth of torture. In hindsight, though, you had a lot to be thankful for. That encounter had helped you to accept,  _ finally _ , that he did not have your name on his skin. Not like how his is burned on yours. 

If it were really there then it was only a faint, inconsequential scar overwritten by constellations, both mapped and uncharted, all tracing a pattern to the mythology that he would soon become. Because, as much as you'd denied it, the truth is Ushijima Wakatoshi had always been destined for the stars. 

"Do you think —  I think we should go talk to him," chirped Yui, her purple skirt spinning lightly as she attempted to follow his retreating form.

Hotaru, being the more reliable and rational one, grabbed the collar of her uniform and said, "Don't be insane," followed by that condescending smirk that'd taken you time to get used to.

"Oh, come on!" Yui, being the braver of your lot, persisted. "What's the worst that could happen? Let's just congratulate him and we'll get going."

You could almost see her doe eyes twinkle as she pinched Hotaru's cheeks, who retaliated with a playful smack to her forehead. 

"Ushijima doesn't need your praise, dummy."

Yui answered with a whine of your name, elongated vowels, high pitched inflection and all. The very picture of a child who'd come home telling on playground bullies to her mother. 

"We have classes in a few minutes, Yui," you pointed out, giving her an apologetic smile as you fixed her creased collar. 

Ushijima could no longer be seen anyway. Incidentally, without any relation to his absence, you fancied that the atmosphere felt a lot lighter and inexplicably less oppressive. Your friend grumbled the entire time you walked back to your classroom. Hotaru mocked her at every turn and you tried to laugh and not mind that growing emptiness beneath your ribs.

She was right, after all. 

Ushijima Wakatoshi did not need anyone's praise, not when there is an entire city that would sing it for him; nor did he have any need of looking down, not when he was already beyond anyone's reach.

* * *

* * *

_ Say you'd gone and messed up the measurements. Say that you'd formulated the wrong hypothesis and overestimated (or perhaps underestimated?) the results. Say that even with all the mixing and pouring you'd done (or perhaps you didn't even do anything at all?) still no form of chemical reaction took place.  _

_ Well, are you then supposed to hang your head in defeat and run away with your metaphorical tail tucked between your legs?  _

_ Dear reader, like any good scientist, you must remember that failure is but another foundation to progress.  _

_ Wear that labcoat! Put on your safety glasses! Romance is a continuous process of experimentation!  _

_ It bears repeating, dear reader, that anything is better than the path taken by the cowards who'd cried defeat at the mere sign of unfavorable odds.  _


End file.
